One Fail-Safe Way to Welcome a Witch
by insertcleverandwittytitlehere
Summary: Ron has never in his life thought he'd read a book cover to cover, multiple times mind you, in just a few short days. But this book—it had captivated him from the first line.


**A/N: **This is the Chudley Cannons Captain checking in for Round 1 of Season 7 of the QLFC.

**Prompt: **Write about a character talking their way out of a situation

**Word count (beforeA/N): **2,239 words

**This is JK's world, and unfortunately for my bank account, I am not JK. I just dabble.**

* * *

Ron rolled onto his back, his childhood bed creaking beneath his weight. A sharp ray of light cut through the window of his bedroom, lighting up his face. He pulled the leather bound tome he'd been carrying around for the last week up to his face, its starchy pages wrested in his hands.

Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.

He angled the book just so, blocking the sunlight from blinding him as he continued to take in the words. He'd never in his life thought he'd read a book cover to cover, multiple times mind you, in just a few short days. But this book—it had captivated him from the first line.

_Still mucking it all up, aren't ya?_

Yes, he was.

And maybe he should have been spending his time on truly important things, like researching Horcruxes or preparing for the daunting journey he and his two best friends were about to take. But every time he sat down and tried to figure out where You-Know-Who might have hidden the torn up slivers of his soul, Ron felt like vomiting.

How could a person do that to themselves? And to what end? According to Harry, old Voldy had turned into something out of nightmares: his face warped, his eyes stained, his inner demons pushing through what used to be Tom Riddle's skin, showing the true heart of the villain beneath.

All that for immortality? All that just to be left as a shell of a being?

Ron shook his head, willing the image of You-Know-Who to fade. He couldn't stomach it. Not yet, not when he could still put stock in happy thoughts. So instead, Ron focused his eyes back on the book hanging above his head, the words so familiar he practically had them memorized.

_A Brief Introduction From Your Smooth-Talking, Witch Charming Authors_

_Still mucking it all up, aren't ya? She's right there, a beautiful and charming woman with abilities beyond compare, and you're sitting in the corner of the room with your foot in your mouth._

_We get it; it happens even to the best of us. And since we've been there before, we decided to give you_—_a hapless wizard with subpar flirting skills and a tongue too tied up to say your own bloody name_—_a chance at finding inner confidence to charm the wand off any witch._

_It must be noted, though, that these are not foolproof methods. All twelve of our fail-safe tips aren't going to guarantee you the love of your life. But they will help you gain the social skills needed to hold an engaging, interesting, and downright genuine conversation with your lady friend. After all, it's not _just_ about wandwork._

After the introduction came the index: twelve chapters Ron had poured over ever since Fred and George handed him the book. Some of the chapters were better than others. Ron scanned the list … _Arguments: What's Healthy and What's Definitely Not _had been eye opening to say the least, with some very real advice on banter versus bickering.

_The 'L' Word_ was, unfortunately, not as helpful. Sadly, the book didn't quite understand his current situation. And how could it? He was in love with his best friend, and he was also about to risk his life for his other best friend. Saying "I love you" really wasn't on the table for him at the moment...

But, _The Very Real Science Behind Giving Appropriate Compliments _was fascinating. Truly. Who knew there were so many ways to come off as creepy? Gits were walking around telling women to smile, others thinking a kind word meant the girl owed them something. Merlin, it was no wonder women traveled in packs.

Of course, Ron would never have done those smarmy things to anyone, especially Hermione.

Hermione. Just thinking about her made his chest tighten. She was due at the Burrow any day now, her last letter saying as much. She had also mentioned something about doing something 'unbelievably cruel but absolutely necessary,' whatever that meant. Ron had felt scared at first, reading that, but it was _Hermione_. She knew what she was doing and he trusted her completely.

He turned the page, opening to the book's first chapter. Just as he was about to dive in for the hundredth time, however, there was a knock at his bedroom door.

"Ron?"

Talk about coincidence.

"Hermione!" he all but shouted, moving to sit up. In his panic, the book slipped from his hands and crashed onto his face with a thud. Ron let out a brief _umph_ as he quickly peeled all twelve fail-safe ways from his head. He slammed the book shut just as Hermione peeked through the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Ye-yeah!"

Ron was desperately trying to hide the book now pressed firmly into his lap. His eyes darted from the book to the door as it swung open. Then, like a stroke of genius, he stuffed it beneath his pillow.

"Your mum said I'd find you—are you reading?"

"Huh?" he gaped at Hermione. The sunlight had moved, now dancing across her hair and face. She was glowing, more beautiful than he remembered her at King's Cross not even seven days ago when she left for her parents' home. He was taken aback by it all—her, the sunshine lighting her features, the fact she was here at all—and he desperately wanted to tell her so.

But this wasn't the right time for a compliment. That's what the book would say anyways, because she had asked him a question and he was staring at her with his mouth gaping like a stunned niffler, one hand still tucked under his pillow clutching the book's spine in his sweaty fist.

"N-no," the word stammered out of his mouth. "No, I wasn't. I don't read, you know that."

Ron tried laughing it off. Hermione raised her eyebrow at him.

"Yes you were. I saw you shove a book under your pillow," she said. Instinctively, in a way that was just _oh so Hermione_, she placed her hands on her hips.

He gulped. "That wasn't anything."

"No?"

"Course not."

"Then why's your hand under your pillow?"

The leather-bound spine burned against his skin. For a moment, Ron thought about whipping his hand out from under the pillow and feigning innocence, but that was unlikely to bear much fruit for him. He could come clean as well, yet that seemed an even more alarming choice of action.

He slowly let out his breath and smiled at her anyways. He had an inkling of an idea, and it was cheeky, he knew it, but he couldn't let her know just how desperate he was to prove himself to her. Merlin, what would she say if she all but glanced at the title! She'd never give him the time of day after that, so he slowly slid out his hand and held it in front of him.

"Just my hand, see?" he said. "That's all I had under there."

Hermione's eyes narrowed; she pursed her lips.

"Sure, Ronald."

Then she took a big step forward, clearly unwilling to drop the subject as she reached for the pillow in question. Ron stood in her way, effectively blocking her path like a magically erected wall.

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry about Lavender!"

Time seemed to freeze then, the air in the room static. Small particles of dust drifted by the sunlight, casting tiny shadows like fireflies dancing in the night. His words had stopped Hermione in her tracks, her nose inches from his own. But as Ron towered over her, he could tell she didn't mind being in the shadow of his giant stature. She was so close, he could have kissed her then and there. She almost looked like she wanted him to.

But his stomach felt like a fish out of water, flopping about in time with his beating heart.

"What?" she whispered. He could feel her breath against his face.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "about Lavender."

Why on all things magical did he say that now? He should have just shown her the bloody book.

"Ron, you don't need to… I mean there's no reason to —"

"I know I hurt you," he continued. It was out there now, no turning back. _Own your mistakes. Take responsibility_, the book's words echoed in his head. "I should have said this sooner, _because _I hurt you. I'm sorry. I truly am. If I could take it all back I would. I only did it because I liked the attention, which is absolutely horrid and not an excuse. I never thought, I really never thought someone could want me like that, could love me like that, and I know I hurt all of us, you and Lavender and myself, because I couldn't just say what I really felt."

Hermione let out a shuddering breath. Ron stared into her maple brown eyes, willing her to understand him even though he felt like melting into the floor.

"And what is that?" she whispered.

It took him a moment to realize she was asking how he felt. How he _really_ felt.

_There's never truly a perfect moment in which to say "I love you_," the book's authors had written. _If you're waiting on perfection, you're missing what love is. It's kind and gentle. It's bold and demands to be felt in both good and bad times. It's a selfish desire and a selfless act. You can't wait for perfection because love feels like perfection in spite of everything else. Love is the perfection, in spite of the imperfections._

"I want to tell you," Ron sighed. "But —"

"Harry."

He rested his forehead against Hermione's, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment. Hermione slid her arms around him, and for the first time since reading those treacherous words, he believed them fully.

"For what it's worth," Ron said instead, pulling away from Hermione before his instinct took over, "how I feel comes down to three very important words. I just know it would be better if —"

"If we went into our mission as three best friends?"

"Unfortunately," he sank onto his bed, knowing full well the mission was the number one priority. And how would Harry feel if his two best friends were … well, whatever Hermione would have let Ron be to her.

He looked back at the witch in question. Hermione smiled at him, a sad sort of smile that nearly broke his heart. He had almost said it, the 'L' word.

Bloody hell, he'd _almost said the 'L' word_. Was he _mental_? Good Godric, had that _bloody book _knocked all sense out of his head when he dropped it on his face? And she hadn't even responded, had she? Not really. No hint at her own feelings. Just the mission!

He _should have just shown her the bloody book! _

"What a welcome," Hermione broke his mental tirade. "Here I thought I'd be helping with the wedding, and instead I'm finally hearing what I've always wanted to hear from the one person that matters most in the world to me. And he can't even say it out loud, because it would hurt my best friend, what with the timing and the need to save the entire wizarding world!"

She shook her head. As she had talked, her words had become progressively louder and louder, filled with a buzzing Ron could only describe as massing hysteria. Hermione, he knew, felt her emotions so fully sometimes, so earnestly. It was like with every beat of her heart came another burst of love and kindness that she gifted to the world. She may have been logical in every aspect, studying and planning and puzzle solving. But her heart was her truest gift.

He wished he could feel half as much as her. Love half as much as her.

"I mean really," Hermione continued, her voice lower now, prayer-like. "What a day. Not to mention my parents currently have no memory of me —"

She closed her eyes.

"What?" Ron was taken aback.

"It's a long story," her eyes opened again, staring into his with such an intensity he felt it warming his chest. "I promise to tell you everything later. I _want _to. But I still need to process it myself."

"Of course." There was no question.

She smiled. "Thank you. And thank you for telling me about Lavender, about everything."

"Course," Ron said. He could feel all the bravado from before fading as a blush crept up the back of his neck. He couldn't let her see that, so he stood. "Let's get you some tea, yeah? Mum will surely try to get you to talk more about the mission—Merlin knows she hasn't left me alone—so maybe we could duck out after and take a walk?"

"I would love that."

As Ron led the way into the kitchen, he couldn't help but wonder, if he had shown her the book, where would the conversation had gone? What would they be doing right now had she known?

Didn't matter, he decided. He meant every word, even if he was trying to keep her from seeing the book in the first place. And, afterall, the book did say he'd learn how to have a _downright genuine conversation_. Ron supposed it might just have worked.


End file.
